


Made In Heaven

by LadyWallace



Series: Made In Heaven [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley and aziraphale friendship, Gen, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, gen - Freeform, help comes from the outside, post armageddidn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: On a mission looking for missing heavenly artifacts, Crowley is injured with a holy bullet. It looks pretty bad for the demon when Aziraphale is unable to heal him, but help might come from an unexpected quarter. (Gen, whump)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Made In Heaven [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904437
Comments: 12
Kudos: 110
Collections: Favorite GO Fics





	Made In Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [underyourwings63](https://archiveofourown.org/users/underyourwings63/gifts).



> Commission fic for Underyourwings63! I hope you enjoy this ^_^

"Are you sure the thingamajigs are going to be here?"

Aziraphale huffed a sigh and narrowed his eyes at Crowley who was walking beside him. "Yes, Crowley, I'm sure they're going to be here, I can feel them, it's sort of a…tingly feeling."

Crowley wrinkled his nose. "But why are a bunch of heavenly artifacts just running around where any old human could pick them up anyway? Thought that was kind of a bad thing."

"It is! That's why I need to find them! And I don't know _why_ , I only know that they have been…er…misplaced, and I've been asked to bring them back."

Crowley snorted. "Guess angels really have a problem keeping track of heavenly weapons. Always thought it was just you."

Aziraphale shot him a look, eyes narrowed in indignation.

Heaven hadn't contacted Aziraphale much after the apocalypse didn't happen, but they had chosen to bring him in on this one as he was more capable of dealing with humans and it looked like that was going to be a big part of this mission. Apparently, it had come to the attention of some of the angels, that several holy items that had been stashed innocuously on earth had gotten stolen. Either by someone who knew what they were looking for or, possibly even worse, someone who didn't. Either way, he knew he'd need to figure out where the items had been taken as quickly as possible, which is why he recruited Crowley to help him.

"How's that tingly feeling of yours, angel?" Crowley asked, voice slightly mocking.

Aziraphale turned to him with another look. "Getting more insistent. I think we're close. Ah…Crowley, look up there!"

Crowley glanced in the direction Aziraphale was pointing and didn't look very impressed.

"That's just a man loading something into his boot."

"But the bag he's carrying!" Aziraphale insisted, already heading in the man's direction. "Excuse me! Sr! I—"

"What are you doing?" Crowley demanded, grabbing his arm.

"He has the items we're looking for in that bag, I'm sure of it!" Aziraphale insisted and pulled away from Crowley, continuing on his way toward the man. "Excuse me, sir, but I really need to look in that bag of yours."

The man turned around sharply, looking like he was about to bolt before he just looked confused to see Aziraphale.

"Wot was that?" he demanded.

"Your bag," Aziraphale said. "I think I need to take a look in that if you don't mind."

"You the police?" he demanded, looking cagy. Aziraphale felt Crowley shift behind him, probably waiting for the man to bolt.

"No, I serve a higher power," Aziraphale told him, practically feeling Crowley roll his eyes. "But please, just let me look if it will be no bother…"

Aziraphale trailed off instantly because the man had reached into his coat and pulled out a handgun, pointing it directly at Aziraphale's chest.

The angel huffed, annoyance filtering through him. "That won't hurt me, I'm afraid, so if you could just forgo the drama and—"

The man suddenly turned to one side and grabbed the arm of a woman walking down the pavement beside his parked car, yanking her toward him as she cried out in shock. Aziraphale was horrified to see she had a young boy in tow, barely five years old, he would assume.

"I don't know who you are, but this bird is gonna get it if you don't walk away right now!"

"Mummy!" the child cried, clutching his mother as she tried to push him away with a desperate look.

"You bastard," Crowley snarled, taking a step forward, eyes flashing behind his glasses.

"Stay back!" the man snarled, waving his pistol around, causing the woman to cower as the child started to cry.

"Crowley," Aziraphale muttered.

"Angel," Crowley replied.

"Don't try anything! I'll shoot!" the thief warned again.

Aziraphale had decided this had gone on long enough. He put his foot down. "My dear fellow, do please stop waving that firearm all over the place. It will do no good! Now let the woman go, and we will talk like civilized people." Though that was probably too much to ask, coming from this man.

The woman, however, seemed to take Aziraphale's interruption as a distraction and kicked out at the man's foot, stomping heavily on it.

He cried out, letting her go instinctively and she started to run away, her son clutched close her to.

"Bitch!" the thief shouted and raised his gun.

Crowley leapt toward the retreating woman just as the gun fired. He took the bullet as the woman screamed, and the demon slammed into the ground with a grunt of discomfort.

Aziraphale, in the same moment, had reached for the bag the man had been putting into the boot of the car, and felt the tingling of the holy items inside. He swung it directly at the man's head and it clobbered him into unconsciousness where he collapsed onto the street, the gun falling from his hand.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to keep his trembling at bay from both excitement and adrenaline. He rarely got to do any heroics anymore! He looked over at the woman who was crouching beside Crowley as her son clung to her, crying.

"You need to help your friend!" she cried to Aziraphale. "He's been shot! He jumped in front of us. I need to call the police, an ambulance…"

"That's quite all right, dear, I'll handle getting him the care he needs." Aziraphale went over to Crowley and crouched down, seeing the demon's hand covering a spot of red on his stomach. Crowley was certainly doing his best to make it look good. But the angel's brows furrowed slightly as he heard Crowley panting, and cast a worried look at his face which, even with his sunglasses on, Aziraphale could tell was pinched with pain.

"Crowley? Are you quite all right?" he asked.

"S-something's wrong, angel," Crowley gritted out. "I…I think this bullet…there might be something wrong with it."

Aziraphale's stomach clenched at Crowley's words and he reached down to the demon's hand and carefully pried it away from the wound in his stomach. Blood spilled out and Crowley whimpered, curling up.

Aziraphale reached up and squeezed his shoulder gently. He could already hear the sirens; someone must have called the police upon hearing the gunshot. Aziraphale turned to the woman. "Go tell the police what happened."

"What about you?" she demanded.

"I need to get him help. I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, pressing his lips into a thin line as he saw a crowd was appearing. But he ignored that for now, Crowley was his first concern.

"All right, I'm going to pick you up," Aziraphale said.

"I can walk, let's not make a scene," Crowley muttered, already pushing himself up. But he doubled over instantly and started coughing, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he choked, reaching up to grip his throat.

Aziraphale wasted no time in slipping his arms underneath the demon's slight form and picking him up, carrying him away from the gathering people and using a small miracle to leave them inconspicuous as he headed back toward where they had parked the Bentley.

"The stuff!" Crowley croaked.

"Already got it," Aziraphale said, nodding to the bag slung over his shoulder. "Please rest.

Crowley groaned and rested limply in his arms, his own curled around his stomach with a wince. "Feels wrong…this…I don't know why…why I'm not healing."

"I'll take care of it once we get back to the shop. I'm sure as soon as I get the bullet out all will be tickety-boo."

"Please stop saying that insufferable phrase," Crowley grumbled, closing his eyes as Aziraphale worriedly carried him to the car, wondering what could possibly be wrong with his friend.

_~~~~~~~_

_Sam was walking home_ when he saw the commotion on the street and, concerned, he went to check it out.

People were gathered around a woman and her son, as she was telling a police officer about something that had happened to her.

"And you said a man jumped in front of you when the other man shot the gun?" the policeman said. "Where is he now?"

"His friend took him to the hospital," the woman said.

"Do you know which one?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"And do you know why this man attacked you?"

"No! It was something to do with a bag he had; the other men wanted it for some reason…"

Sam felt a nagging pain start up behind his eyes, and he stopped walking and reached up to press the heel of his palm against his head. Please not again. He was getting really tired of this…

He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed on his way home, the nagging pain, and the scene he had witnessed pounding simultaneously through his mind.

_~~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale carried Crowley_ into the bookshop and deposited him as gently as possible onto the couch in the back.

Crowley groaned in obvious pain, and his body was rigid and taut. Aziraphale pressed his lips together worriedly, wondering what he should do.

"Is it still as bad? No healing?" he asked cautiously.

"Feels _worse_ ," Crowley gritted out. "But the bullet's still in there. Feels like fire."

"Maybe if we take it out then you'll be able to heal yourself," Aziraphale said, trying to reassure them both as he knelt and started to pull Crowley's shirt up to see the wound. "I really don't understand though, if it was a regular wound…" He trailed off, because as soon as a knuckle brushed across Crowley's stomach, he felt a vague tingle. He glanced back at the bag he had dropped carelessly by the door, but this was different. It was…

"What?" Crowley gulped.

Aziraphale's mouth felt dry. He didn't want to think about it, but… "My dear, I think that it's possible this was a holy bullet."

"Wait…" Crowley looked at him incredulously. "You have those?"

"Yes, well…sometimes we need to put one in the right place, make sure a job gets done. There must have been some in that stash and the man just happened to load them into his gun…That must have been why it hit you so easily. Your demonic energy attracted it away from the woman and child," he added apologetically.

"So that's why it hurts so much?" Crowley demanded, then started coughing, curling up against the pain. Aziraphale gripped his shoulder tightly.

"I'm afraid so. But hopefully when I get it out you'll be able to heal."

Crowley stayed silent as Aziraphale gathered the things he would need. He tried to keep his hands from trembling, but if he was being honest, he was quite scared for his friend.

Once he had found his medical kit, he went back to the couch, scared to see Crowley's paler than usual skin. The demon had taken his glasses off, and that always made him look smaller somehow. He cracked one golden eye open as Aziraphale returned.

"I'm afraid this isn't going to be pleasant, dear," Aziraphale said.

Crowley sighed and closed his eyes again. "Just get it over with, angel."

Aziraphale did as best he could. He set the tools he would need out, cleaning them even though there probably wasn't any need considering they were supernatural creatures. You could never be too careful.

He bent over Crowley and began to clean the blood from his skin so he could see what he was doing, and even that made Crowley shudder with a wince and sharp inhalation of breath. Aziraphale didn't want to think about how much pain he would be in soon.

He took up the pair of forceps next and sighed in resignation. "Alright, Crowley, do just try to relax as much as possible."

Crowley was about to say something snarky, but Aziraphale wasted little time, wanting to get this done as soon as possible. He slipped the forceps into the bullet wound and instantly felt Crowley tense.

"Gah…" the demon cried, hands flailing as he fought the urge to push Aziraphale away.

"Easy, easy," Aziraphale coaxed and bit his lip, trying to find the bullet with the forceps. Crowley's hands clenched into the couch and his knuckles whitened, keening.

"Angel…" he breathed.

"I'm so sorry, dear, just hold on a little longer."

He was trying to find the bullet, but couldn't understand why he was having so much trouble.

Then finally there was the clink of a bullet against the metal, and Aziraphale let out a small sigh of relief, as he gripped the bullet and started to pull it free.

Crowley screamed, and jerked so violently Aziraphale lost his grip.

"Crowley!" he cried and the demon simply rolled over, gagging. Aziraphale hurriedly grabbed a bowl he'd found for water and held it under the demon as Crowley began to vomit. It was a disgusting mixture of blood and bile that did not look good.

"My dear," Aziraphale breathed as he gently wiped Crowley's face, rubbing his back carefully as he panted for breath.

"F-feels like…holy water," Crowley gulped.

Aziraphale's heart twisted at the thought, sure it was because of the bullet.

"I need to get the bullet out.

"N-no, just leave it," the demon groaned.

"Crowley! I can't! It will only get worse," Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley whimpered but allowed Aziraphale to settle him on his back again as the angel returned to his medical supplies.

"Look, I'm afraid I have to open the wound a little more to see what I'm doing," Aziraphale said regretfully.

Crowley simply grunted. "Won't hurt worse than it already does," he croaked.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and reached for the scalpel, opening the wound slightly to a sharp inhalation from Crowley.

More blood flowed out now and Aziraphale wiped it away before he started to go back in for the bullet. It seemed easier at first, but once he found the bullet again, and started to grip it, it just seemed to simply not want to come out.

"A-Aziraphale," Crowley gritted out. "What's wrong?"

"It just doesn't seem to want to come out," Aziraphale gritted out as he tried to reposition the forceps and pulled.

Crowley screamed, jerking away and Aziraphale pressed down against his hip to keep him steady. He tried to block out his friend's discomfort and simply work on getting the bullet out, but it was difficult, especially when Crowley reached out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing painfully.

"Angel, please," he breathed.

"Just a little bit more," Aziraphale murmured, trying to ignore Crowley's pain for now since there was nothing he could do—he was the one causing it after all. Finally, frustrated and desperate, he gave the bullet a good tug and it finally came free. With another firm maneuver he finally managed to pull it out and dropped it disdainfully into a cup as Crowley screamed breathlessly.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cried in distress, grabbing a cloth to press against the bleeding wound as Crowley doubled over, vomiting blood again. Aziraphale tried to soothe him as much as possible, but it seemed like he was in too much agony to even register that Aziraphale was there.

He simply held the demon close to him, and tried to console and comfort him through the wave of agony. When Crowley finally seemed to settle—or perhaps fall unconscious—Aziraphale finally set him back against the couch and bandaged the wound, which was still bleeding too much for his liking. He was worried. He was nearly certain that Crowley would be able to heal once the bullet was gone, and hopefully once he rested a little, he would indeed be able to, but the fact that it was a holy bullet? Aziraphale didn't really know what that meant. He knew holy weapons were very powerful, and could be used to great effect toward demons if needed, but…surely because Crowley had gotten injured protecting innocents he would be spared?

Unless the bullets were completely unbiased.

Aziraphale worriedly watched his friend as he bandaged him up, hoping and praying that this would turn out okay in the end.

_~~~~~~~~_

_Sam got back to his flat_ to the sound of his roommate, Jared, bustling around in the kitchen.

"Hey, you're back early?" he said as Sam threw his backpack down on the table. "Are you coming to the meeting tonight?"

Sam's head continued to pound and he raised a hand to press his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose. "Um…I don't know. I have a headache."

"Wait, it is another of _the_ headaches?" Jared asked, stopping what he was doing and coming to face his friend.

Sam shoved him aside. "I don't think so, it was just a long day."

"But if you're having visions again, we should tell the others. That's why I brought you to them to begin with."

"Yeah, and I kind of wish I never told you. I didn't want to be a side-show," Sam sighed. "Just go without me tonight, okay? I just want to sleep."

He shoved the other man aside and headed toward the bathroom where he grabbed a bottle of Tylenol, taking a couple for his head before he made his way to his room and shut his door, simply falling into his bed and hoping he would be able to sleep the headache off.

Of course, if it was one of his weird ones, then…well, decent sleep was probably the last thing that was going to happen.

_~~~~~~~_

_Crowley's fever started_ soon after Aziraphale removed the bullet. He pressed his hand against the demon's forehead and worriedly bit his lip when he felt how hot he was. He got up and went to fetch a wet cloth.

Before he got back in the room, he could hear Crowley choking and ran hurriedly toward the couch to see the demon gasping for breath, trying to turn onto his side as he gagged.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale hurried over, propping him up and getting the bowl under his head as he threw up again. Crowley whimpered as he finished and collapsed against Aziraphale.

"It's all right, easy," Aziraphale murmured to him.

Crowley let out a soft sob, curling up as Aziraphale positioned him back on the couch.

"Hurtssss," Crowley said, hissing slightly. "Burning…"

Aziraphale took the damp cloth he had brought and bathed Crowley's forehead with it, dabbing away the sweat that had formed on his brow.

"Is the wound still paining you that much, dear?" he asked worriedly.

Crowley whimpered in affirmation. Aziraphale didn't know what to do.

"You don't…you don't think you can heal it?" he asked quietly.

Crowley's eyes opened slightly, clouded in pain. "I'm trying, but…"

Aziraphale's heart sank at this news. He had been afraid of that to begin with. Perhaps _he_ could heal it, since it was a holy bullet. Maybe only something angelic could counteract the effects.

"Do you mind if I try?" he asked. "It might be a good idea to check your wound anyway."

Crowley didn't protest and Aziraphale took that as an okay before he reached down to pull up Crowley's shirt.

The bandages were already soaked through with blood, leaving Aziraphale slightly disconcerted, before he peeled them back.

Crowley groaned, clutching the couch in pain, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

Aziraphale bit his lip and used the wet cloth to loosen the bandages before he peeled them away.

The area around the wound looked inflamed and Aziraphale was afraid it had gotten infected. He quickly summoned his power and placed his hand over the bullet wound, his hand glowing.

Crowley tensed, but Aziraphale could already tell nothing was happening. He tried again and again, before he finally gave up, sitting back on his heels, feeling like he had failed.

"Don't worry," Crowley murmured. "Didn't think it would work anyway."

"Oh, Crowley…" was all Aziraphale could say. He felt close to tears. He didn't know what to do. How could this have happened to his friend? Why did that man have to put the holy bullets into that gun in the first place?

He quickly fetched fresh bandages and Crowley suffered the motions, seeming to experience agony at even the lightest touch.

When Aziraphale cleaned up and tucked Crowley under a blanket, he sat down next to him and began to bathe his brow with a clean cloth, just watching every pained breath and shift of discomfort.

What on earth was he going to do?

_~~~~~~~_

_Sam found himself on the street corner where he had seen the police earlier. The woman and her child were there, but now she was being held at gunpoint by an unsavory looking man. Behind them were two other men, strangely dressed, one with blond curly hair and a bowtie and the other a redhead wish dark sunglasses._

_The curly haired man was trying to reason with the thief but then the woman stomped onto the thief's foot and ran. He whipped his gun up, and shot._

_The redhaired man leapt in front of the woman and the bullet slammed into his stomach._

_Sam wanted to cry out, but he knew he couldn't do anything. It was a dream, after all._

_The scene changed to the two men in some kind of old-fashioned looking room, covered in books. The redhaired man lay on a couch, while the blond one tended his wound. The injured man looked terrible, coughing up blood, and Sam had the sudden feeling that he wasn't going to make it…_

He pulled himself out of sleep with a gasp, rolling onto his back as he tried to breathe. The headache was dissipating, finally, and he groaned. He hated having these dreams. He just didn't understand why this was happening.

He'd made the mistake of mentioning them to his roommate and Jared had told him he should join the local chapter of the Freemasons with him where there was someone who supposedly knew a lot about dreams and stuff. But he hadn't been much help. Sam couldn't use the dreams at will, they only came when they wanted to, and he never knew when that would be. He didn't even know if they were triggered by certain things or not, he just knew that they usually had to do with someone real and someone in trouble. Sometimes, it took a while to figure out who though.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked at the clock, seeing it was after midnight. He really couldn't do anything right now, but maybe tomorrow he could try and see if he could find out who those men were. Or maybe it was the woman? Was she still in danger? It was always hard to tell.

He groaned and got up to take a shower. He couldn't think any more on it that night.

_~~~~~~~_

_It was a long night,_ and Aziraphale would wish for it to end sooner if he knew that Crowley's suffering would end with it. Unfortunately, he only seemed to get worse as the night went on.

Aziraphale tried to keep him as cool as possible, and also tried to keep the bandages changed and the wound cleaned, to keep the infection from getting worse, but nothing seemed to be helping.

In fact, the pain that changing the bandages seemed to cause Crowley only seemed to make him worse, most of the time resulting in him being in so much pain, he vomited.

It had been a few hours after Crowley's fever started that the pain had started in earnest, until Crowley confessed it felt like he was burning from the inside out.

"It's like acid, angel; like holy water," he croaked weakly, writhing against the couch as Aziraphale tried to soothe him. "And it feels like I'm being burned and flayed at the same time."

It seemed to have the same effect on his throat every time he was forced to vomit from the pain. It hurt Aziraphale almost as much to watch as for Crowley to experience it, each bout leaving his friend sobbing from the pain and tears in his own eyes.

Finally, after a terrible night, he checked the time and tiredly realized he should change the bandages again. He turned down the blankets, as Crowley whimpered in his light, restless sleep, and started to loosen the bandages that were already covered in blood and discharge from the wounds.

A weak sob escaped Crowley's throat and his hand fell onto Aziraphale's wrist.

"Please…don't," he whispered weakly, eyes wet and dull from pain.

"Crowley…"

"It's no use, angel," Crowley croaked, voice wrecked from vomiting the acidic blood so many times. "Just…just leave it."

Aziraphale hung his head, trying to fight back his own emotions. He knew what Crowley was really saying. That it was pointless to have to make him suffer any more than he already was.

Because he didn't have a lot of time left.

Aziraphale could see it no matter how much he wanted to deny it. Crowley was fading and it wouldn't be long until…

He refused to think any further on it though. He gently tucked Crowley back in and took his hand, squeezing gently.

"Is there anything I can do for you, dear?" he asked quietly.

Crowley shook his head weakly, eyes falling closed again. "No, just…stay with me."

Aziraphale blinked back wetness from his eyes and nodded, shifted Crowley gently so he could squeeze next to him on the couch. He propped Crowley up against his shoulder and Crowley sank against him with a weary sigh, his breathing evening out as much as it could from the pain.

Aziraphale carded a hand through his hair and glanced upward, blinking away tears.

"Please spare him," he pleaded quietly, hoping Someone was listening.

_~~~~~~~~_

_Sam dragged himself_ into the kitchen the next morning, grabbing just some toast for breakfast. He'd dreamed all night, not just the once. Each time seeing the redhaired man fading more and more.

Sam was certain he was going to die and he was also certain that he was meant to save him. He just wasn't entirely sure how.

He did know of a way to start looking for them though. One of the dreams had shown him the front of a shop, a bookshop, and with all the books in the background of the dream's setting, he was certain that was the place. All he had to do was find out what it was.

Another thought came to mind too. At the Freemason chapter house, there was a room filled with odd things they had collected. He was certain he'd seen some sort of healing salve there before.

He would stop by there before he went to find the injured man.

Jared was already gone for the day, so Sam got his laptop out at the table and searched for bookshops.

It took him a little while, but he finally found a picture of the exact place he had seen, which was apparently a used bookshop in Soho. He finished his breakfast quickly and hurried off to hail a cab, heading toward the Freemason chapter house.

It wasn't far and he told the cabbie to wait as he dashed inside. Luckily, not that many people were there this time of day so he only greeted a couple other members quickly before he hurried toward the room he was looking for.

Thankfully no one was inside. He felt a little weird essentially stealing something from the chapter house, but at the same time, it was to help someone, so was it really that bad?

He snuck into the room with all the artifacts and looked around, trying to see what he might be able to use to help.

And finally, he saw what he was looking for. A healing salve that was supposed to work on any wound and cure anything but death itself. He grabbed it off the shelf and quickly tucked it into his backpack before heading out.

Only a few feet down the hall, he crashed into someone coming around the corner.

"Sam?"

Sam cursed inwardly as he saw Jared. What was he doing here this early?

Jared seemed just as surprised to see him. "What are you doing here? I thought you would be sleeping in?"

"Yeah, um, I just stopped in before school, I forgot something the last time I was here and had to come pick it up," Sam stuttered.

Jared didn't look like he was buying it, but Sam didn't give him time to think further. "Look, I need to get going, I've got to stop by the library before my first class. See you tonight?"

Jared nodded. "Yeah, see you later."

Sam hurried out, and back into the waiting cab, giving the cabbie the address of the bookshop as he clutched his backpack with the salve close to his chest. He really hoped he wasn't too late.

_~~~~~~~_

_Aziraphale watched Crowley's_ every labored breath between his own, worried each time that it would be the last. His friend was just so far gone by now. The only good thing about it was that he was no longer conscious enough to feel pain. But he also seemed to just be slipping away and all Aziraphale could do was hold him and make sure he knew he wasn't alone.

Crowley whimpered slightly and shifted but still didn't wake. Aziraphale swallowed hard, stroking a hand through the demon's hair, not knowing what to do.

A knock came on the door.

Aziraphale instantly bristled.

"Go away! We're not open!" he shouted, feeling bad as Crowley stirred and whimpered again at his loud voice.

"Um…" came the muffled voice from the other side of the door. "I don't really know how to explain this, but I'm here to help."

Aziraphale frowned. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"You don't know me, but I am here to help, I promise."

Aziraphale hesitated but he didn't feel any demonic or even angelic presence from this visitor, and if he _was_ there to help…

He carefully got up and lowered Crowley down on the couch before cautiously heading to the door, opening it just a crack.

A young man stood on the stoop, clutching a backpack, wavy brown hair falling into one eye. He offered a small smile.

"Hello, sorry, I…look, I know your friend is hurt—the one with the red hair—I have something that might help."

Aziraphale frowned. "And what is your name, young man?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Sam Weymouth," he said, holding out his hand, which Aziraphale shook.

"I'm Aziraphale," the angel replied. "Um, come in, I suppose."

He stepped aside and let the man in. "How did you know about us?" he asked.

Sam bit his lip. "Look, it's a little strange…"

"We're well acquainted with strange, believe me," Aziraphale said.

"Well, see, I have these dreams sometimes. Dreams about real things. I saw what happened yesterday and then how your friend was really sick…" He opened his backpack and pulled out a small pot. "This is supposed to be a healing salve. I don't really know if it works or not, but I thought you might try it."

Aziraphale took the pot and opened it, smelling a mixture of herbs and feeling a slight tingle, like he had from the holy items. He pressed his lips together, worriedly. If it was also a holy salve, then would it only do Crowley worse? Or would it help anyone in need?

He then caught sight of the man's hand, and the ring there with a familiar symbol.

"Ah, you're a Mason," he said with recognition.

Sam glanced at the ring. "Ah, yes, a friend of mine recently got me into the local chapter."

Something flickered through Aziraphale's mind, this young man's face, and another, a knight he had known a long time ago. A spark of recognition bloomed.

"Wait a moment, did you say your name was Weymouth?" he asked. "Are you perhaps any relation to Sir Hugh Weymouth?"

Sam looked surprised. "Actually, yes! He was an ancestor of mine. A Templar. Actually, that's partly why I joined the Freemasons, because of the whole family thing...how did you know about him?"

"Oh, I knew him personally," Aziraphale said. "Nice young man."

"I'm sorry, you…what?"

Aziraphale cut in quickly. "Thank you for the salve. I don't know if this will work for Crowley, but I appreciate your kindness anyway." He hurried back to Crowley, the young man following slowly behind him.

Crowley lay pale and wheezing for breath on the couch and Aziraphale crouched down and pulled his blankets aside. "Please fetch me that bowl of water," Aziraphale told Sam.

The young man hurriedly dropped his backpack and handed him the bowl. Aziraphale peeled up Crowley's shirt and winced at the sight of the bandage. He carefully wet it and peeled it off, revealing the wound, which made Sam exclaim softly.

"That looks terrible! That was just from a gunshot?" he asked.

"Ah, it was a little more than that, I'm afraid," Aziraphale said as he opened the jar of salve and carefully applied a little bit to the wound. Crowley whimpered at the contact, but didn't seem to be in any _more_ pain so that was a good sign. He finished coating the wound and applied fresh bandages.

"Do you think it will work?" Sam asked.

"I hope so," Aziraphale said as he tucked Crowley back in and straightened up. "Could I make you some tea? Unless you have to go…"

"Oh, no, some tea would be nice," Sam admitted.

They sat for hours, as Aziraphale talked to the young man, drinking tea and watching Crowley closely. He seemed, miraculously, to be getting better, and the next time Aziraphale checked his wound, it was less inflamed and had started to close. He applied more of the salve, and watched as Crowley slept soundly, finally seeming to be without pain.

Sam left after a while, once he made sure Crowley would be all right, and Aziraphale saw him to the door rather reluctantly.

"Please do come visit again," he said. "And if you have any more dreams, do let us know. Crowley and I are in the business of helping people. Someone with your talents is quite miraculous. Sir Hugh also had them, you know."

Sam's eyes widened. "Really?"

Aziraphale nodded with a small smile, remembering the other young man. "He did. I think he would be proud of you. I would love to tell you some stories about him someday."

Sam smiled back, seeming slightly bemused, but waved as he left the shop.

Aziraphale returned to his vigil.

_~~~~~~~_

_Crowley woke groggily_ , blinking his eyes and taking a moment to remember what had happened.

"Well, it's about time you got up, dear. I thought you would sleep for a whole century again."

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale sitting beside the couch with a book and cup of tea, looking relieved.

"Wha—" he began, putting a hand against his wound, and finding it didn't hurt nearly as much as he expected it would.

"You're mostly healed, though I would take it easy for a few days," Aziraphale warned.

"What happened?" Crowley asked, running a hand though his hair. He had been sure he would die….

Aziraphale smiled. "A nice young man came with a salve for you. A descendant of a man we used to know. Do you remember the Templar Sir Hugh Weymouth?"

Crowley thought back and finally remembered a young knight he and the angel had stumbled across back in the day on one of their misadventures. It wouldn't be the first time a member of that family had helped them out.

"Really?" Crowley asked, still not quite believing everything. But then, he had been through it.

Aziraphale put a marker in his book and stood. "You look like you could use some tea. I'll fetch you some right now and I'll tell you what happened." He started off to the kitchen, then turned back around. "I'm very glad you're all right, my dear boy. We truly are lucky to have such good friends looking after us, aren't we?"

Crowley smiled slightly and nodded. They certainly were.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr and see updates about upcoming fics! https://lady-wallace.tumblr.com


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